


A Human Link

by veiledndarkness



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Title: A Human Link

Author: veiledndarkness

Rating: R

Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)

Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.

Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.

*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*

 

Prologue

 

X

 

He wasn’t all that fond of the sun before. 

 

The sun seemed to find him, chase him into the shade and burn his pale skin if he dared to step out from the relative safety of where ever he’d ducked under to hide until dusk. He didn’t care for the way his skin burned so easily, the way his skin itched and ached and peeled if he wasn’t careful enough. 

Now he found that he missed the feeling of warmth, he missed the feeling of heat spreading over his face and neck, the sunbeams searching out his skin eagerly. Funny, how you don’t miss something until it’s taken away from you. 

Now he found the chill of night to be his companion and he couldn’t get warm to save his life, that pitiful meagre existence he’d had before…before everything had changed and left him in this place, guarded by beings that might well have been statues were it not for the way their eyes followed him, trapped high above the ground in a cold mausoleum that reached into the sky.

He laughed a little and trailed his hand along the wall, feeling a chill slip into his fingers, a cigarette hanging idly from his other hand as he ambled about the room, the stars glinting in the skylights above his head. He thought he might be able to touch the stars someday, if he’d been allowed to go outside once in awhile.

But outside was dangerous. The building reached up, up into the clouds, up so high that he dared not step too close to the door, having heard from _**him**_ exactly how far off the ground he currently was. 

 

He wasn’t all that fond of heights either. More so now…

 

The sky stretched on and on and he sat against the wall, smoking and watching the stars glint back at him and he laughed again. He didn’t believe he was safer here either, no matter what _**he**_ said.

 

X


	2. Chapter 1

Title: A Human Link

Author: veiledndarkness

Rating: R

Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)

Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.

Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.

*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*

 

Chapter 1 

 

X

 

Daytime was infinitely more boring than night time, Scud decides as he watches the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon, a brilliant burst of colour streaming as the golden light died away, making room for the darkness of night. 

He supposes with a twist of bittersweet irony that he hadn’t made much use of daylight when the option had been his. He’d never been much for getting up early and often slept well into the afternoon before stumbling out and joining the crowds that favoured the nightlife. He’d often stayed up until dawn just because he could and his line of work sure as Hell wasn’t a nine to five to begin with. 

He leaves his cigarette between his lips and fidgets with the bottom of the cross he still wears. It seems to amuse _**him**_ that he had it to begin with. He runs his thumb over the ridges of the silver cross, cigarette dipping lower between his lips. After a moment’s pause, he stubs the butt out in the overflowing ashtray nearby and exhales a thin stream of smoke. 

The sun’s dropped below the horizon abruptly and Scud shivers, already chilled. 

Chewing on his bottom lip contemplatively, he watches the last bit of colour fade from the sky, dark, inky black stealing over. He sighs and rests his head to the wall near the immense sliding glass doors that lead out to the patio, to where the artificial fountain flows silently, to the very edge of this crypt in the sky. 

This was as far as he would go, as far as he’d let himself come to the doors. He knows that if he dared disobey the orders given, if he were to wander about and touch the water or lean over the side of the building, he’d fall, fall all the way to the bottom and no amount of King’s horses and King’s men would be able to piece him back together.

He could hear the footsteps now, whisper quiet ones that moved closer up behind him. Without thought, without realization, he turns his head to the side, exposing his neck. Let it never be said that he didn’t learn quickly in life. 

He can feel _**his**_ presence then and it sends shivers down his spine. 

Cool fingers slip over his neck, stroking, touching his pale throat, feeling his pulse. A breath catches in his throat at the gentle squeeze from the fingers holding him in place. He can feel those devilishly sharp fingernails, seemingly filed to points, tracing over his skin and oh God…he wants to drop to his knees, weakened by a mere touch from a vampire. 

Scud stares out the window as _**his**_ fingers move up and into his hair, stroking, petting his scruffy strands, arranging and settling them to his liking. Scud can see a glimpse of razor sharp teeth in the glass, lips descending to his neck and he stifles a moan at the pressure along his skin, right to that spot below his ear, the one that makes any resistance he has crumble away every damned time. 

He hears _**him**_ chuckle, the sound low and seductive and he lets his eyes close, melting back into his embrace. He hears the words repeated to him and he can’t help but want to believe him at least a little when he tells Scud how dangerous it is to wander alone, to wander so close to the windows, to the world outside. 

Doesn’t he know how much safer he is indoors, with _**him**_ , away from the criminals, away from the monsters hiding in wait for their next victim? There’s more to fear outside, down there. 

He hates that the words work their magic on him and how he doesn’t put up a fight when he’d led away from the windows, away from the darkening sky, away from the cold walls and back into the private rooms that his Master owns, back into his bedroom. 

He sits passively on the bed and the last of his cigarette is removed from his hand and he stares up at the ceiling, wishing he could see the stars emerging in the night sky. 

His Master studies his face and the frown on his own is frightening. Scud gnaws on his lower lip and the fear he feels is reflexive. He’s yet to have been seriously hurt by _**him**_ but there’s an ungodly amount of strength hidden in Deacon Frost’s body and he hates the fact that he’s all too aware of what a vampire like him could do to Scud. 

He touches Scud’s chin, turning his face this way and that, his frown fading into a scowl before he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts Scud, as easily as though he were lifting a pillow, and settles him across his lap, head tilted back and to the side, exposing his neck once more. 

He fists his hand in Scud’s hair none too gently and lowers his mouth, tracing the small bruise that lingers on his skin from being marked and claimed not long ago with the tip of his tongue and Scud can’t help the small moan that escapes him, he really can’t. 

Slow, light at first, the barest touch of fangs to his skin and his nerves are screaming and he’s tensing in his Master’s lap, reclined in his arms only because his Master wishes it so and he can feel his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage and he knows that his face is flushed but all he can think of is the feel of those teeth sliding into his skin. 

He gasps and bucks once as they pierce through and he can hear the grunt from above him and he fists his hand, grasping the expensive material of his Master’s pants, feeling as though he’s flying and falling at once. 

Scud closes his eyes and his body jerks as his blood flows out and into Deacon’s mouth and just when he thinks he can’t hang on just one moment more, he’s lifted, a tongue sliding over his throat, sealing his wounds. He sways, dizzy and aroused and he can’t think straight as he’s manipulated and situated on his Master’s lap, kneeling on either side of his legs, his mouth meeting Deacon’s and he can feel Deacon’s tongue sliding against his and taste his own coppery blood. 

He moans and arches his back, knowing that he’s allowed to take now, and he does, biting down on Deacon’s lip as he feels the hands strip his clothes away, as his body is touched by slightly warmer fingers, as he’s stroked and teased and as he feels his release flow from him, he can’t remember why on Earth he would want to leave this place. 

 

X

 

_  
He can’t believe his luck when the babe sitting on the barstool next to him starts giving him the once over and smiles as she does. She’s eyeing him like she wants to fuck him three ways from Sunday and who is he to pass up the opportunity to mess around with a woman this hot?_

_And then…Jesus, she whispers in his ear that she’s got a girlfriend who likes to share and does he want to join them?_

_As if he’d say no._

_She tells him her name is Janet, and this is her girlfriend, Chrissy, and they stare at him with hungry eyes._

_Before he knows what’s happening, these two have him in the alleyway beside the club and they have him up against the rough brick wall and he can hear the music pulsing from inside and feel their hands ripping his shirt open and that’s when he feels some fear trickling in._

_The buttons to his shirt scatter over the dirty ground and they kiss along his neck and chin, sharp, slightly painful kisses and he tries to remember why this was a good idea and right as he wants to mumble an excuse as to why he needs to leave, he feels something stab into his stomach._

_Pain, white-hot pain scorches up his stomach and chest and he tries to cry out but nothing happens beyond a choked whimper. They’re…they’re ripping into his skin and blood… **his blood** covers their fingers and he wants to vomit but he can’t move from their steel grip on his arms._

_He tries to buck, tries to kick and squirm but nothing beyond a few feeble jerks happen and he sobs out a breath and it hurts! Fuck, but it hurts! Tears run down his cheeks as they croon and laugh and lick their blood-slick fingers._

_As darkness bleeds into his vision and he falls to the ground beneath him, he reels to the sound of someone hissing in a language he doesn’t know, to the sound of angry words exchanged and the sound of harsh female shrieks. A figure looms over him and he stares up at the person who’s rescued him but he doesn’t feel safe, not one bit._

__

 

X


	3. Chapter 2

Title: A Human Link

Author: veiledndarkness

Rating: R

Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)

Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.

Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.

*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*

 

Chapter 2

 

X

Scud awakes alone in the bed some time later. He blinks and rubs at his face, disoriented as always after a feeding. The toxins that keep him toeing the line flow freely through him and he can’t remember to care, not when he feels like he’s riding the best fucking high ever. He smiles and slips off the bed, padding to the adjoined room where he knows Deacon will be by now. 

And as he expects, Deacon sits at his desk, rifling through sheets of paper, a pensive frown marring his pale face, his blue eyes icy cold with annoyance. Scud kneels down next to him at the desk and smiles anew, uncaring of his nudity, not when he’s higher than can be, not when his blood is singing in his veins and he can see the frown slipping away from his Master’s face. 

He can feel that hand come down, petting his hair absently. There’s something terribly comforting and frightening in knowing that he’s nothing more than a pet for his Master. He doesn’t feel safe but the outside is much more frightening and his Master takes care of his needs and yeah, you can’t ask for much more than that.

_(And after the high wears off, he finds such disgust with himself for his delusions)_

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, pet,” Deacon murmurs, though his gaze stays on the stack of papers before him. 

Scud shifts closer to him and he chews on the edge of his thumb, his crooked grin tilting his lips up around his thumb. He shrugs one shoulder and rests his head against Deacon’s thigh. He doesn’t like to sleep alone but Deacon’s hours of rest don’t always mesh with his own and when Deacon allows it, he sleeps curled up with him, clinging to the cold flesh. 

“Couldn’t sleep,’ he mumbles around the side of his thumb, his eyes half closed as his hair is smoothed over and over. 

Deacon makes a sound in his throat and his hand comes to a rest in Scud’s hair. He sits back in his chair, drumming his free hand on the arm rest. “Even the dead have paperwork,” he says and Scud knows his response isn’t needed. 

He peers up at the brooding vampire cautiously, gauging the mood he might be in. There’s a moment where he considers slinking back to the opulent bedroom and hiding away in the thick blankets that Deacon doesn’t need but he ignores that urge. 

Hours could pass and he’s not even sure what day it is anymore but he knows that Deacon is pre-occupied, even more so lately, and the amount of time he spends scowling at his desk and the reams of paper tell Scud that there’s more going on than just bill payments and red tape to sort through. 

He sits and waits until the hand resumes stroking his hair, the cool fingers reaching down to rub over his neck, to that spot that makes his skin ache. In the heat of the moment, he’ll willingly lie across the desk and let Deacon have his way, do anything he wants. He’s _**his**_ slave, and he knows it and this seems to be his purpose and yeah…yeah he does kind of miss his old life. 

Deacon strokes the side of his neck, as absently as he pets Scud’s hair and he sighs again to himself and stares down fixedly at the nearest sheaf of paperwork. “Have you heard anything for vampire weaknesses before?” he asks and the sound of his voice startles Scud. 

He stares up at his Master, blinking in confusion. “Uh,” he manages, more than a little unnerved by the sudden question. Deacon doesn’t converse with him normally, he expects obedience and Scud knows when it’s better to shut up. 

“”Sides what the movies say?” he offers hesitantly. 

Deacon chuckles and it sends shivers scurrying down Scud’s spine. It’s not a pleasant sound, but then again, it’s not nasty either. “Besides that, yeah,” he turns a paper over and traces the words with one pointed fingernail. “Besides sunlight or garlic or stakes through the heart.”

“Then no,” Scud murmurs and he watches Deacon’s lips purse in disapproval. 

“I figured as much. Humans…” he starts to say and then shakes his head impatiently. 

Scud bites his lower lip and worries at it. Life with Deacon Frost is spent on a dagger’s edge and he hates him for bringing him into this world, for saving him when he should have died, and a part of him is grateful that he’s even still alive, scarred though he may be. 

All he knows is what he hears in whispers and that’s nearly nothing in itself. He knows that Deacon is powerful, that many of the older vampires, the ones from some important council, don’t like him. Beyond that…nothing, nothing more than guarded looks and he knows nothing good ever came from being nosy enough to ask. 

He’s lifted suddenly and before he knows what’s happening, Scud is settled on Deacon’s lap once more. He fights the urge to squirm and a shivery moan escapes him as Deacon’s fingers stroke his neck, over and over until he’s dizzy, his blood singing in his ears all over again. 

Dimly, he hears Deacon speaking, and it occurs to him that Deacon’s speaking to himself, as if deep in thought. He lets his eyes drift shut and through the pounding of his heart, he can hear him reciting a list. A list of descriptions…

“…immune to silver…imagine that, immune to _sunlight_ …”

Deacon’s lips graze his neck and he feels his stomach surge and twist and he has to fight to keep his mouth shut, to keep from begging and deep inside his mind is the raw hatred of how easily he responds after the first feeding. 

He hates that he wants to feel those fangs sink in, that the toxins in his blood are screaming for it, and he hates how submissive it makes him, and oh God, he wants this to be over with and why does Deacon keep him as a pet…

“…everything we are, only better,” Deacon continues and his mouth is right below Scud’s ear. 

His voice is hypnotic and Scud whines low in his throat, his hair falling over his eyes. His skin burns with shame but he can’t stop from needing this. One hand wanders low, down Scud’s body, past his chest, over his scarred abdomen, and down, down between his thighs and he’s still slick from earlier and his breath catches in his throat as Deacon toys with him. 

His hips jerk and stutter as he feels the familiar sensation of one sharp fingernail rubbing just so inside. He knows without looking that Deacon’s undone his own pants, multitasking at a speed that’s eerie to watch and before he can exhale, he feels him slide inside. Scud bites down on his lip again, frozen for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe from the sudden pressure inside him. 

Deacon cups his face and whispers in that language that he doesn’t know, the one that he’s since learned is only for _**them**_ , the vampires, and it makes his skin crawl the same as it did when he first heard it in the alleyway, when he’d been sure that he was dying.

And in between whispers of words he doesn’t know, he does hear one strange word, one that echoes around his mind as Deacon begins to thrust within him, as those fangs slip into his neck and he gasps, his orgasm slamming into the base of his spine and scorching up through his body, he hears it again and wonders why he can’t stop hearing _‘…daywalker…’_ while he’s screaming through his release. 

 

X


	4. Chapter 4

Title: A Human Link

Author: veiledndarkness

Rating: R

Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)

Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.

Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.

*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*

 

Chapter 3

X

It’s an ever changing array of guards that watch over him. 

Silent, still statues that look human, but he knows they aren’t.

He knows that they report to him and he’s not stupid enough to do anything that’ll get him into serious trouble but there’s a big part of his pride that wants to act out like he brat he once was. 

He wants to trash the main room he spends much of his time in, smash the mirrors and glass that surrounds him. 

Instead, he settles for smoking petulantly by the window in the main room, watching the sun set on another day. All of his days blur together now. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was tricked by those bitches, since he almost died. It might be weeks but he thinks it might be more like months. 

There’s one guard nearby and he knows that none of them will ever speak to him.

He can hear footsteps echoing far away and he hunches his shoulders, burrowing deeper into his well worn coat. The sun is down when the footsteps come to a halt and he wrinkles his nose, rubbing at it with the back of his hand. He can almost smell the vampire behind him. 

It’s not Deacon and it bothers him that he kind of wishes it was. 

“Still sulking, huh?”

Scud doesn’t respond and he knows better than to rise to anything Quinn has to say to him. He stubs out his cigarette and lights a new one immediately, blowing out a plume of smoke. Maybe if he pretends he can’t hear…

“Man, you gotta learn to appreciate what you’ve got here.”

He feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat and his cigarette bobs between his lips as he tries to suppress that. Appreciate his invisible chains, oh sure, absolutely…

“Such a fucking punk,” Quinn mutters and slams a metal container down on the floor next to Scud. “The hell he see in you, I don’t even know, man.”

“That make you jealous?” Scud finally mutters as he squints up at him. 

Quinn’s nostrils flare and he clenches one fist threateningly and Scud knows that Quinn would gladly throw him off the top of the building without a second thought if it weren’t for the fact that Deacon wouldn’t like it. 

“You shut the fuck up!” he hisses, looming over him, his orangey-reddish mess of hair hanging far too close to Scud and he feels the urge to flick his lighter to one of the long braids and see if he’ll roast.

“Or what?” Scud rests his head to the wall. He doesn’t care and he’s not afraid of Quinn and he can’t drum up the energy to verbally spar with the half-wit vampire. The guard’s still nearby, he’s still watching, observing. He won’t let Quinn kill Scud.

Quinn makes this sound and it’s almost a growl and he grabs at Scud’s hair, yanking him off the ground. Scud tries, he really does, but a whimper of pain escapes as Quinn shakes him like a rag doll and he can feel his scalp aching, the strands of hair caught in Quinn’s fingers. 

“Goddamned punk ass human,” Quinn snarls at him and Scud could almost cry with relief when he hears that horrible language assault his ears and Deacon’s there, shoving Quinn back as he swears at him in words Scud can’t understand.

Scud hits the floor with a thud and he grips his head, touching his hair gingerly. His scalp is on fire and he wants to just run. Deacon’s distracted with Quinn and Scud can hear him berating the other vampire. He doesn’t need to speak their language to know when someone is being given shit. 

He could, he could try at least and as he lies on the floor, willing his body to move, he feels the weight of Deacon’s eyes on him. He freezes, absurdly paranoid that, oh Christ, maybe Deacon could read his thoughts and that idea is ridiculous, he knows that his Master can’t do that but he’s suddenly terrified that maybe he can.

“Scud,” Deacon snaps at him, but there’s no real venom behind his words. He points to the door and Quinn hightails it out of the room as soon as he turns his gaze Scud’s way. 

“I didn’t do anythin’, honest,” Scud mumbles as he sits up, still holding a hand to his head. 

Deacon stares at him, his face unreadable beyond the clear anger he radiates. “Yeah, I know that.” He glances at the guard and a scowl forms on his lips for a moment.

Scud finds the still burning cigarette on the floor nearby and his hands shake as he brings it to his mouth, badly needing the reassurance of routine. He inhales and tries not to cringe as Deacon moves suddenly, and then he’s next to Scud, looking him over intently. 

“Don’t suppose you could tell him not to scalp me?” Scud asks before he can keep the thought inside his head. 

Deacon’s hand comes down hard and Scud feels his eyes water when Deacon grips his head. “That mouth of yours gets you in trouble. You might want to consider that.”

He winces and struggles to hold still and as he breathes out, he feels Deacon’s grip relax and a look of concern washes over the vampire’s face. To his surprise, Deacon kneels down beside him and removes the cigarette from his lips, holding it askew. 

“I ought to just keep you in my bedroom,” he murmurs and Scud hates the coil of desire he feels. “My little pet…you’d be safer there, I think,” and he nods as if that settles it. 

Scud chews on the inside of his cheek and shakes his head rapidly. “But…”

He doesn’t want to stay in Deacon’s bedroom and he wants to kick up such a goddamned fuss. There’s no window in Deacon’s room and at least here, Scud can watch the sun move. He opens his mouth to say no but nothing comes out and he hangs his head, sighing heavily. 

“You don’t really want to be left to your own devices out here, do you?” Deacon asks as he examines the last of Scud’s cigarette like it fascinates him. “After all, I’m not always around to…monitor you.”

“Yeah, you’re doin’ a bang up job so far,” Scud mutters and he’s caught off guard by the light sound of laughter above him. 

Deacon’s face has relaxed from his initial anger and he looks more amused than anything else. He smoothes his hand over Scud’s hair, his touch gentle this time. “Is that what you think? Hm? Do we need to have that discussion about what’s outside?”

“Just as many monsters inside,” Scud mumbles under his breath. He’s tired, his head hurts and he wants to curl up and hide until Deacon finds something else to hold his interest. 

There’s no response and he listens to the sound of his own shallow breathing for a long moment before he looks up. 

Deacon’s frowning at him but there’s no real anger behind it. “Get up.”

Scud wants to refuse but he knows it’s not wise to do so. He gets to his feet and hunches his shoulders, watching the last bit of sunshine drop out of sight in the skyline. He’s beginning to hate the night. 

X

He’s never slept on such fancy sheets or on a mattress as soft as the one Deacon uses in his bedroom. Scud lies across the bed, draped over it unceremoniously, his head hanging off one side, his hair falling back to brush the covers beneath him. Deacon’s got the room lit with a few candles and he’s kneeling over Scud’s prone body, whispering to him in words he can’t decipher. 

His skin is on fire and his earlier anger and bitterness has been forgotten and he’s powerless to move. His invisible chains are strong tonight, he thinks as his spine arches upwards, reaching for more of Deacon’s touch. He may not wear any cuffs, there might not be a collar around his neck, but he feels leashed nonetheless, tied to this building, tied to Deacon’s rooms, tied to Deacon. 

He can’t think straight and it bothers him how easily Deacon can manipulate him. He bites his lip, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths. He can pick out familiar sounds in the language the flows above him, similar ones he’s heard before and it’s the one word that breaks through his lust-addled haze. 

“…Daywalker…”

Scud jolts and his skin moves up and Deacon’s sharpened fingernail slits across Scud’s chest, parting the skin with ease. 

“Oh fuck!” Scud sucks in a shaky breath. He lifts his head up and watches with morbid curiosity as blood wells up from the cut and trickles down his skin. 

Deacon stares down at the blood and his eyes are dark, his fangs gleaming in the candlelight. He runs his finger through the slick trail and Scud wants to scream when he sees Deacon lift his finger to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplets.

It’s too close to what happened before, those women, and he feels a hysterical shriek building in his throat. Deacon’s eyes gleam and he makes a sound that sends shivers down Scud’s spine. He cringes back and his lips move and he’s gasping out his question to try and distract the vampire from tearing his chest wide open. 

“What’s a daywalker?!”

Deacon stops and he cocks his head, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“I…” Scud licks his lips hurriedly and he can feel his chest itching from where the cut begins. “You said somethin’…that word, I…it was daywalker.”

“It’s none of your fucking business!” Deacon snarls at him, his hand fisting in Scud’s hair.

Scud closes his eyes and he forgets to breathe as he panics. Every instinct he has is screaming and he’s beyond terrified, beyond plain fear. He’s dead, he knows it and it’s all he can do to not faint when Deacon yanks him upright with one vicious tug. 

“How the hell do you even know what I said?” he demands, his face a mere inch from Scud’s. 

“I…I don’t! I swear, it’s…you were speaking and I uh…” he babbles desperately, his eyes fearfully wide. “It’s the words, they sound um…that one word, I heard…”

“You heard what?” Deacon shakes him once for emphasis and his fangs are so close that Scud turns his head, baring his neck reflexively before he can think of doing otherwise and his blood hums under the surface, eagerly anticipating the moment of injection. 

“You, you said it the other day!” Scud hears himself say though he sounds far away. He thinks he might be having a panic attack or maybe he’s too well trained for his own good, submissive to bring Deacon’s rage back under control. “In English…”

Deacon’s grip on him relaxes and Scud can feel the bruises already beginning to bloom on his skin. His eyes sting and he wants to fucking bawl when Deacon shifts back down, straddling Scud’s thighs. He’s breathing too fast and he’s so goddamned afraid. 

“It doesn’t mean anything that you need to know about.”

Scud nods rapidly. “Ok…ok,” he whispers as he rubs his sweat-slick hands on the sheets. His heartbeat pounds in his ears and he’s still not entirely sure that Deacon won’t kill him. 

Deacon eyes him, a suspicious glare to his face. He smears his thumb over the still wet cut on Scud’s chest and Scud winces, a wisp of a gasp leaving him at the jolt of pain. 

“You ask too many questions,” he says, pressing on the cut. 

Blood droplets pool around his thumb and Scud bites his bottom lip to keep the little noises of hurt to himself. Deacon’s rubbing back and forth on the wound and, God help him, Scud watches in numb horror as the vampire licks along the cut, neatly removing the traces of blood. 

Nausea swirls in his stomach and yet…Scud feels desire begin to coil there as well. 

He closes his eyes once more and it’s not long before he’s responding, his body jerking and rising with Deacon. He grips the sheets in both hands, shaking as he’s taken, pain sliding into his neck and then he feels nothing but bliss but in the back of his mind, he hears the word over and over and he’s more afraid of the vampire that saved him than he ever was before. 

X


	5. Chapter 5

Title: A Human Link

Author: veiledndarkness

Rating: R

Pairing: Deacon Frost/Scud (Josh)

Summary: He’s caught in their world, trapped in the middle of their fight.

Disclaimer: The characters within are not mine, no harm is intended, and no profit has been made.

*I’ve messed about with the storylines from Blade & Blade 2. For now, let’s pretend neither movie went as we’ve seen it.*

Chapter 4

X

Scud knew without asking that he wasn’t allowed to do much of anything. He’s the pet of a powerful vampire and in a sense, very much like a lapdog. It’s expected that he just _sit_ , sit and wait for his Master and be grateful for any scrap of attention he’s given. 

He resents the hell out of it until the venom flows into his veins, and even then the resentment lingers far under the euphoria. It makes the invisible collar around his neck feel tighter. And now, having been banished to Deacon’s bedroom, he feels more dull rage than anything else. His Master had made good on his threat to keep him confined here and that makes him itch.

There isn’t a single window in the room and he hates it more than he thought possible. He can’t tell if it’s daytime or not and he misses the sight of the sun in the sky something fierce. There’s no clock in Deacon’s bedroom and with no sense of time, he feels like climbing the walls or clawing at the expensive fabrics that cover the surfaces. 

It’s maddening, being trapped like this, and after a few hours, there’s a disturbing amount of cigarette butts in the fancy glass ashtray, far more than before. There’s packs of cigarettes brought to him daily by the same rotation of guards, though he doesn’t always sees them come or go. He’s taken to biting his nails again; a bad habit of his from childhood, one that he never quite shook. 

He moves from the chair by the bed, to the thick carpet on the floor, back to the plush bed, a lit cigarette trailing from his hand at all times. Hours pass and he feels his sanity beginning to unravel. There are no panels to count in the ceiling, no sharp objects to tempt him, no computers, not even a fucking pen to draw with.

Food comes for him at regular intervals and he supposes he should feel gratitude that his Master remembers to feed him; that Deacon remembers that humans can’t live on a diet of blood. He’s heard whispers from one of the guards to the other that drops food off in metal boxes for him, and they remark on the fact that Deacon actually seems to _care_ about his health. 

There’s a box waiting for him on the end table that sits next to the chair that he often sprawls across. He hasn’t had much of an appetite yet today, if it even still is today, in fact, he feels downright lethargic and weak. There’s a flicker of fear that maybe his food is poisoned and he kind of wants to ignore the food in case it is, but hunger wins out eventually, and he picks at it, forcing himself to eat at least a bit. 

There’s nothing for him in this room, this jail cell that feels more confining than a coffin, and he hears little laughs from time to time and it’s with a creeping awareness that those laughs belong to him, and it’s then that tears sting his eyes. He’s trapped, well and completely trapped, and on the brink of losing his mind. 

X

Hours pass, though it might have been days, before he hears the door open and there’s a swell of relief that flows through him at the sight of Deacon in the doorway. He sits up from the lush carpeting where he’d been lying, eyes overly bright in the dim lighting. 

Deacon’s studying him, clever eyes looking him over and there’s a somewhat cruel twist to his lips that has Scud catching his breath. “Miss me, pet?” he asks, and there’s a hint of a sneer in his words. 

Scud thinks of several witty responses and discards each one as quickly as they come to him, his mouth dry as he feels his head bob up and down obediently. His fingers itch for a cigarette and he darts a glance at Deacon, hoping he looks submissive enough for the moment.

“I’m sure,” Deacon lets the door shut behind him, black shirt shifting with the darting movements he makes as he crosses the room. He’s cupping Scud’s cheek with one hand, cold fingers digging in this side of painful. “You’ve been pouting again.”

Well there’s no denying that. 

Scud stares at the carpeting between Deacon’s expensive boots, his mouth compressed to a firm line to keep any sarcastic quips from escaping. He shrugs a little, wishing he could tell him how much seeing the sun means, but the words fail him. He hates to beg and if this is his punishment for rising to Quinn’s taunts, then he won’t be the first to crack.

“I don’t enjoy a pet that sulks,” Deacon says, his tone light and verging on thoughtful. “I don’t have any use for a pet who doesn’t appreciate the gifts he’s been given. I could have just as easily walked past you in that alleyway.”

Scud bites his tongue, tastes blood, and winces. He doesn’t want to be a pet, he never did but there’s gratitude under his resentment. Deacon saved him, kept him locked away from worse things than horny female vamps, and he touches Scud with a reverence at times that steals his breath but he can’t block out the memories from before, his life no matter how bleak it had been before all this and he realizes too late that Deacon’s staring at him, correctly guessing his line of thought. 

“Maybe I should have left you there, let them _feed_ on you,” his nails are digging in harder, pinpricks of pain in Scud’s cheek, but still he bites down on his tongue, refusing to rise to the baited words above him. “Maybe that’s where you belong, down in the gutters with the rest of your kind, the rest of the _cattle_.”

There’s little pink streaks on Scud’s cheek from Deacon’s nails, marks that feel icy hot to the touch, and he stares down at the carpet, his breath coming in quick pants between his ears. He can admit to being afraid, terribly afraid of Deacon’s moods and he seems more irritable today and that’s never good news. He chews on the inside of his cheek, fighting the quivers that run between his shoulders. 

Deacon drops his hand with a snort and paces near him, muttering under his breath, his pale hands fisted tightly. “Senile motherfuckers,” he spits as he paces one length of the room, then down another length, his face scrunched with anger. “And they’re happy, oh so happy to keep things the way they are!”

Scud lifts his eyes, watching Deacon from under his eyelashes, and even though he knows it’s a bad idea, the questioning words are tumbling from his lips. “…What, uh…that is…”

Yeah, it’s a mistake and he tries not to cringe when Deacon glares at him, that cold harsh glare that makes his skin crawl when it lands on him. “Did I tell you to speak?!”

His throat bobs as he tries to swallow over the sour lump of fear that’s blocking his air and Scud feels his fingers shake. Deacon looks more than mad, more than pissed, more than furious even and he’s never looked so angry before this moment. “No…”

Deacon’s lifting him clear off the floor in a movement that’s too fast for human eyes and Scud’s clawing at the hand around his throat, any trace of the man Deacon once was is washed away in the fury that’s etched in his expression now. He hisses that terrible sound that Scud knows isn’t English and his eardrums throb with pain, thundering with each twisted word. 

“You don’t know,” Deacon rasps finally, his voice flowing back into English as he brings Scud in closer, his lips curled back in a vicious snarl. “You don’t have a fucking clue, _human_ , what it means to be afraid, not yet. If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”

There’s a feeling of weightlessness before Scud hits the floor and he’s laughing that horrible laugh again, those pained, almost hysterical giggles wrenching up his abused throat and even though his eyes are watering, he can’t hold them back. Tears well up over his lashes and he’s got his eyes squinted tight but the crazed laughs don’t fade, not even when he’s cowering from the vampire above him. He’s afraid, terrified really, but he can’t help it. This is his saviour, the one who didn’t let him die, who won’t let him leave, the one who’s punishing him for some imagined transgression, and yet, he’s cowering at his feet and laughing like nothing matters. 

“You think this is funny?!” Deacon demands coldly, watching Scud’s fit of hysteria with detached anger. 

Scud bites down on his bottom lip, stifling the laugh until he’s laying there, his throat burning, finger marks marring his skin. Blood wells up and beads down his lip, falling to his chin and he feels all amusement fade away as Deacon’s eyes flash, that look of bloodlust that he knows all too well. 

Deacon’s kneeling over him, cradling his head in both hands, his lips parted, sharp white teeth exposed to the dim light and Scud holds his breath, feeling the slick trail of blood welling under his lip and then Deacon’s there, his tongue flicking up and over the red stain on Scud’s chin. 

He hates the moan that escapes him, the sign of weakness that betrays him and he’s closing his eyes as Deacon’s teeth graze his skin, those cool lips brushing down over his chin, down to his neck and he’s sighing into the sting of the teeth that slide into his skin, into his body and the euphoria sweeps over him anew and he forgets why he was afraid, why he had laughed like a madman only moments before. 

X

Deacon’s calmed by the feeding, his fingers trailing through Scud’s hair, brushing the messy strands this way and that. Scud lies as he’s been arranged on Deacon’s bed, submissively sprawled over the sheets, his head on Deacon’s stomach, his skin on display for his Master. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, slow and steady, and the pain in his throat is minimal. He’s floating on the venom that drugs him and he smiles a little as Deacon’s fingers expertly rub along his scalp. 

“They think I’m reckless,” Deacon murmurs some time later, if its minutes or hours, Scud’s not sure. “That I’m not the same, not on their level.”

Scud gazes at him, his lips quirking a little. “Who does?”

Deacon smirks and tugs a lock of Scud’s hair playfully. He’s too sated to be annoyed by the question. “The Elders,” he says with great disdain. “Those ancient pricks, they’re so far behind the times, it’s a fucking joke. All this blah, blah shit, let’s all co-exist, let’s hold hands and be friends and keep up the back alley agreements and promises with the humans. They’re delusional.”

He runs his thumb over Scud’s ear, somewhat pleased by the shivery reaction of his pet. “They want things to stay the same, pretend that things haven’t changed, that there’s no risk this way, never mind that Daywalker bastard. We’ve got bigger problems, but let’s pretend that humans can still be our allies.”

Scud stills at the word ‘daywalker’, his breath catching despite the bliss that courses through his blood. He listens to Deacon ramble on about the Elders, about one in particular, one named Dragonetti, and it occurs to him that he’s probably not supposed to know such things, but he listens anyway, and when Deacon stops talking, he turns his neck up in offering, having felt the renewed tension grow in his Master’s body. 

Deacon growls with approval and he leans in, licking at the sensitive spot below Scud’s ear and Scud closes his eyes again, gasping in arousal despite his curiosity. He thinks briefly of the words Deacon had let slip and there’s a frisson of fear that slithers up his spine nonetheless. 

X


End file.
